In the Footsteps of a Legend
by Elizabeth Arian
Summary: A tribute to 'The Mandala of Sherlock Holmes' by Jamyang Norbu. An old Tibetan monk yearns for home after a visit from an enthusiastic traveller...
1. Chapter 1

**In the Footsteps of a Legend.**

I looked at the young man seated opposite to me, examining the relics of my life. Time had certainly moved on since I had last been free to wander in the world, only the visit of this curious boy had made me realise how long a time that was. Dressed in my monastic robes it was quite easy for me to forget who I was. I lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, in spite of all my efforts I was no longer as young as I used to be and the smallest of tasks seemed to overwhelm me.

"I am sorry sir to be so enthusiastic but these items mean a great deal to me." The young man stammered, his eyes shining as I had not seen anyone's do in such a long time. I smiled.

"Do not apologise. I have been apart from the world for so long that it is refreshing to see the spark of fire in the young that I used to so admire."

"How long have you been here sir? Do you remember tales of the Norwegian explorer."

Do I remember?! If only he knew how much I remembered.

"Oh I have been here for many a long year and yes I remember him."

The young man nearly expired on the spot at this news.

"Oh please tell me what you can of him."

I was about to open my mouth to reply that in spite of popular opinion he was a rude and obnoxious man when a young girl burst into the room stopping the words in my throat. She was a beautiful girl of about fifteen.

"Father we have to go there is a storm coming and we cannot leave mother alone."

Her father, my persistent interviewer sighed at her.

"Yes, yes I am coming." He stood and she went to him, laying a slender arm around his waist, he responded by placing his arm about her shoulders. I bowed to her and greeted her as was appropriate.

"I am sorry to interrupt but I left it as long as I thought wise before doing so."

"Please do not apologise. I have not seen such a beautiful face in...well possibly in my entire life."

The girl blushed.

"You are a strange type of monk." Her father observed, not incorrectly. I laughed noiselessly.

"I suppose that's true, monk I may be and old I may be but I was not always so and occasionally I remember what it was to be a man and an admirer of beauty."

The girl blushed again and her father laughed.

"Well thank you for a most interesting afternoon. I hope to see you again."

I took the hand he offered and bowed as was customary.

"I hope to see you both again, please feel free to visit me. I could do with the vitality of youth around me, especially as I am now feeling so old."

The girl took my hand in both of hers and smiled.

"We will come back."

With that they were gone. I returned to my room, if only they knew the truth. Would they be eager to return of they knew my true identity? I was such a closely guarded secret that I was amazed they had been permitted through the door. Still my soul was weary and eager for the home I had known. These people were a way out of the existence that had been mine for what seemed like a thousand years. I slept that night peacefully, a sleep that was filled with dreams of my youth, my home and the one man I had not thought of in a long time. The reminiscences were pleasant and I awoke to find myself looking forward to the rising of the sun, as opposed to seeing each day as the continuation of a prison sentence. I would go home to die and somehow these people would help me. I would make sure of that...

_This piece was inspired by a book by Jamyang Norbu entitled 'The Mandala of Sherlock Holmes' by far the best Holmes pastiche I have ever read. I hope you enjoy!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

He continued with life as normal. The strange visitor however, had not been forgotten. Now the seed of the idea had been planted, he could not so easily give up the idea of home. He knew that it would be changed, that the length of his time here was fantastic to say the least. That all he knew would be gone, all the people he had known and yes, loved, would be dead. He knew that. He was anxious for them to return so he could lay his plan before them. What if they should refuse? No, he could not think of that, he could only plan for agreement, he was sure they would help him. The way they had looked at him, in wide-eyed wonder, he was sure they would help him.

He did not have to wait long. The young man and his daughter returned as they had promised. It was still strange to him how they gained admission, he was after all, such a closely guarded secret, but he did not ask them and they did not offer an explanation. As they entered, his heart began to beat faster than it had done in years as the gravity of what he was to ask them broke down upon him.

"Welcome." He said bowing to them and motioning them to sit, which they did.

"Thank you for seeing us again."

The man smiled at him and he smiled back, unsure for perhaps the first time in his life how to continue.

"I must confess that seeing you again is a joy to me, a joy that is entirely selfish."

"A joy? How could we possibly hold any importance to you?"

The man glanced towards his daughter who smiled but said nothing.

"I have a favour to ask of you. I am afraid that it is rather a great one."

"We will help you in any way we can Mr. Holmes."

He stared at her in silence. Her father stood and after taking a few pointless steps around her, resumed his seat.

"You promised you would not say anything," He said to her, "Not until we were sure."

"I am sure." She continued, her eyes never leaving Holmes' face, "This man, this monk, is Sherlock Holmes. He has been here since his 'death' in 1939. He returned to the monks that he belonged to during the 'Great Hiatus' he knew they would help him. You were not ready for death then were you?"

Her question came as a shock to him. All she had said had been correct, he had come here in 1939, the world believed him dead as they had done once before, he had fooled them again and at the time, he rejoiced in it. Now, he feared he had been allowed to live too long.

"You are right. Back then death was not what I desired, true Watson was dead but I was not yet ready to follow him. These men have helped me to cheat it. My name, for all intents and purposes is Holmes and I have resided in this monastery since 1939. I am relieved that you have saved me a laborious explanation. May I ask how you knew my identity?"

He was fighting to keep his voice calm, this girl, this mere child, had done what no man had done in sixty years. She had known him.

"We have friends and they have heard rumours of the man in the monastery that is no Tibetan, a man that has the habits of an Englishman and resembles the great detective. We came here to decide for ourselves."

Holmes smiled at her confidence, no girl he had ever known would have dared speak to an elder the way she had done so naturally – still times had changed.

"You make it sound so very sordid." Her father said, "We were curious that was all. We are great admirers of yours Mr. Holmes and we wanted to see if the rumours were true."

Holmes nodded,

"I do not mind. I do not completely understand the fascination the world seems to hold for me, but I do not mind it. Now, about this favour, are you sure you wish to hear it?"

They both nodded.

"I am old, too old. I have been on this earth longer than is natural for any human being and I am tired of it. I wish to die."

The girl gasped but her father grasped her wrist and she said nothing. He continued.

"Before I die I wish to return home, to England. I have been happy here but England is home – it is where this body was born and it is where this body wishes to die. They will not release me easily – you see I am a closely guarded secret and my exposure to the world could cause some very serious problems for Tibet, problems I do not wish to bring here."

They both nodded.

"We will try. We have powerful friends, they got us admission here." The girl's father spoke with an authority that Holmes would not have given him credit for.

"Thank you my friends. I may call you that may I not?"

The man smiled and the girl bent forward and took Holmes' hand in her own.

"We were your friends before we met you." She smiled and Holmes felt a stirring that he had thought long dead.

"Come we have much to do." Her father held out a hand to her and together they turned to leave, "We will return when we have made arrangements."

Holmes rose and bowed to them.

"I do not know how to thank you."

"Thanks is not needed."

Holmes watched them go with a sadness that he had not expected. He was getting what he wanted but now he was faced with the prospect of home he felt anxious. He knew that setting foot outside these walls would bring on all the ravages of age that he had so far managed to escape and the idea scared him. But home, the thought of seeing England again filled him with hope and he returned to his room with a feeling of expectation, his dreams were filled with home and thoughts of travel. The wait for news was agony, but he was Sherlock Holmes and he had borne worse and survived. He swore to whatever God that cared to listen that he was going home and they could send floods, fires and famines to try and prevent him but he had not been beaten yet and he thought now a very poor time to start....


End file.
